The Definition of Brotherhood
by Scrawlers
Summary: "There's no love like the love for a brother. There's no love like the love from a brother." A series of one-shots, vignettes, and drabbles inspired by quotes about brothers, centered around Sam and Dean, from wee!chesters to adulthood.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, or any of the quotes that inspire these one-shots/vignettes/drabbles/things.

**Authors' Note: **If you look, there are actually quite a lot of quotes about brothers -- you know, those little tidbits that make you feel warm and fuzzy that were said by people long since dead, but remembered for their wisdom? Well, while reading some, I decided to write, and since the Winchesters are the only brothers I can think of as of late, I decided to write about them.

Every one-shot/vignette/drabble in this collection will be inspired by/centered around a quote, therefore. I don't know how many of these there'll be; I'll just write a new one whenever I find a new quote.

I haven't seen every episode (though I know what's happened, so I can't be spoiled), so I apologize for any OoCness. If there is any, let me know, just try not to flame for it. It won't do either of us any good. :)

Please review if you read!

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Brotherhood

**One.**  
"_Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero." _--Marc Brown

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After Sam found out about the monsters in the dark and what their dad _really _did when he was "working," he'd had a hard time getting to sleep.

He tried to hide it. For all of his whining, Sam was the type of kid who would keep his real troubles to himself. Dean knew he wasn't the most observant twelve-year-old around, but he knew how to read Sam, and he could see through all of Sam's whining about not wanting to move and wanting to go play with his friends to see that none of that _really _bothered Sam. Sam wasn't lying -- he really _didn't _want to move and he really _did _want to go play with his friends -- but that was all trivial stuff, stuff that just riding on the surface of deeper troubles. Sam didn't complain about not getting to sleep, but Dean could hear him tossing and turning on the other bed, and noticed how utterly exhausted Sam looked at the breakfast table each morning, hiding yawns by stuffing toast into his mouth. Dean didn't like touchy-feely moments, and so he didn't say anything, but he still noticed. It was his _job _to notice.

But even he couldn't hold off on saying anything when he heard Sam crying one night. Sam had cried the first night when he found out, that first Christmas when he'd chosen to go to bed early instead of showing Dean his tears. Dean hadn't said anything then, and truth be told he didn't really want to say anything now -- he _wanted _to go to sleep, because he'd been up just as early as Sam that morning and was dead tired -- but it wasn't as if he could go to sleep with Sam crying, either. As much as Sam tried to hide it, they shared a room, and Dean could hear every stifled sob.

"Sam," he called, turning slightly in his own bed. Sam hiccupped as he tried to keep the tears down, but otherwise didn't respond. Dean sighed. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam was quiet again, either trying to fool Dean into thinking he was asleep (fat chance), or trying to calm down enough to answer. Finally, he choked, "N - Nothing. 'm going t - to sleep."

"Yeah, right. If nothing was wrong, you wouldn't be crying little girly tears." Dean's attempt at a tease seemed to do nothing to lighten Sam's mood -- didn't make him retort that he wasn't a girl, didn't make him laugh. Dean rolled over completely, staring at Sam's turned back and shaking shoulders. "C'mon, Sammy, spill it. Do you want me to get Dad?"

"No!" Sam turned quickly, his eyes wide and red and puffy from his crying. Dean frowned at the sight, because no matter how tired he was and no matter how girly crying was, seeing Sam crying never failed to make Dean upset. "Don't get Dad. I - I'll go to sleep. I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't get Dad to get you in trouble, stupid. I'd get him if you're upset." Dean sat up, throwing his covers back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, hesitating before he stood up. "But do you wanna tell me what's wrong, first?" Sam seemed to hesitate, biting his lip and averting his eyes, and Dean's brown furrowed. "Sammy?"

"It's --" Sam's breath hitched and he closed his mouth, hesitating again, and Dean was about to press him further when Sam spoke, his words coming out in a rush. "I'm scared, Dean."

"Scared?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Of what? I already told you, Dad checked under both of our beds and in the closet. There's nothing in here. 'Sides, Dad wouldn't have rented this place if there was. It's a crappy enough apartment without having monsters, too."

"I know, but -- Dean, what if something comes?" Sam pushed himself up, staring at Dean with big puppy dog eyes. Dean rolled his eyes, hoping to lighten the mood, and crossed the short space between their beds to sit next to his brother.

"Nothing can get us. Dad put salt down by all the doors and windows."

"But what if something gets past the salt?"

"It can't. Salt's like a secret weapon against demons and stuff. They can't get past it."

"But what if they come when we're at school or something?" Sam pressed. "They don't put salt down at school, and we're not allowed to put it down either."

"They won't -- wait, what?" Dean looked down at Sam, one eyebrow raised. "Sam, did you try to use salt at school?" Sam looked down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs.

"I brought some back from the cafeteria," he confessed. "I tried to put it around the windowsills of my classroom but Mrs. Lea stopped me."

Dean couldn't help it -- he started laughing, and reached around to sling an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Sammy, you can't do things like that. You'll draw attention to yourself. And besides, those little salt packets from the cafeteria wouldn't really do much anyway." Dean paused, and then asked, "You didn't tell Mrs. Lea why you were doing it, were you? Dad'll be pissed if you did."

"No," Sam said, and Dean relaxed, allowing his grin to return. "I wanted to, but I didn't. She wouldn't have believed me anyway."

"Yeah. It would've just caused problems," Dean said. Sam twisted in Dean's hold to look back up at Dean, and when Dean looked down, he saw that Sam's eyes were still full of tears.

"But Dean," he insisted, "that's just what I mean. We can't use salt at school. What if demons or ghosts or things come _there_?"

"Sammy," Dean began, turning partially on the bed so that he could put his hands on Sam's shoulders, "nothing's going to get us, okay? Nothing _can _get us -- Dad wouldn't let it."

"But Dad's not at school," Sam countered. "He can't protect me there, or -- or you." The last bit was added so quietly that Dean wouldn't have caught it if he'd still been over on his own bed, and it caught Dean by complete surprise, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say next. Slowly pulling his hands away, Dean studied Sam carefully for a moment, noting how Sam had looked down again and how tears were still slipping slowly down his cheeks. Finally, Dean pulled his little brother back into a one-armed hug.

"Sam, nothing's gonna get me either, okay? Nothing's gonna get either of us, and I mean that when I say it."

"But -- "

"Dad's a superhero, right?" Dean asked, and though Sam didn't nod in agreement, Dean went on anyway. "So that makes me like a junior superhero. A superhero-in-training. And I've had enough training to kick some serious evil ass."

"Really?" Sam looked back up at Dean, his eyes wide and pleading and begging for confirmation. Dean nodded.

"Yeah. So you don't need to worry, okay? Nothing's gonna getcha so long as I'm around."

For a second, Dean thought Sam wouldn't believe him. He hadn't believed him right away on Christmas, after all, when he'd cried himself to sleep, and he certainly hadn't believed that he was safe in all the weeks after, especially if he was trying to lay salt down at school. But although there was still a little fear in Sam's red-rimmed eyes, there was also acceptance, and Sam even smiled a little shakily when he nodded.

"Thanks, Dean."

"Hey, don't sweat it. It's my job, squirt." Dean pulled his arm away, mussing Sam's hair. "Now let's get some sleep, okay?" Dean crawled around Sam to lay on one side of Sam's bed, prompting Sam to twist his neck around and stare at Dean with incredulous eyes.

"You're sleeping in my bed?"

"Yeah. I happen to like it over here. Nice change of pace." Before Sam could get up to move to Dean's bed, Dean reached up and pulled him down, forcing Sam to lay on the pillow. "So lay down yourself, would'ja? I won't be able to get any sleep if you're sitting up and moving around all night."

"Okay." Sam settled in next to Dean, but only a few seconds passed before he asked, "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're a junior superhero because Dad's a superhero, does that make me a junior superhero too?"

Dean snorted, turning over to lay on his other side. "No. It makes you the sidekick." Dean couldn't see Sam to be sure, but he could have sworn that he heard his brother choke a laugh.

"Jerk."

"Brat."

A few more seconds of silence passed before Dean heard Sam yawn and subsequently murmur, "G'night, Dean."

"'Night, Sammy." Dean planned to keep himself awake until he was sure that Sam was asleep, but as it stood, it didn't take long; a few moments later and Sam's breathing had evened out, with no sobs or tossing and turning to speak of. Dean smiled, closing his eyes and relaxing into sleep himself.

Oh yeah. He was definitely a superhero, all right. Hell, if Sam's smile the next morning was anything to go by, Dean thought he could safely say that he was even better.

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**Authors' Note: **I know their normal exchange is "jerk," "bitch," but I thought that even though Dean says "ass" and "pissed" at twelve, "bitch" might be a bit much. At least, I don't remember him saying it in "A Very Supernatural Christmas." If I'm wrong, sorry! Rest assured I know that he grows into "bitch" later on, though. :)


End file.
